


A Storm Of Soot

by Elwen_of_the_hidden_valley



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Bad Weather, Elves, Family, Gen, Injury, Rivendell | Imladris, Storms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-25
Updated: 2018-03-25
Packaged: 2019-04-07 21:30:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14090061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elwen_of_the_hidden_valley/pseuds/Elwen_of_the_hidden_valley
Summary: This short story runs parallel to chapters 24 and 25 of my Tittlepin.  It covers the same events from Gilraen's point of view.Elrond is injured and Imladris is enveloped in a violent storm.





	A Storm Of Soot

The settings and characters belong to JRR Tolkien. I am only dabbling in the shallows of his pond and this is fanfic.

 

A STORM OF SOOT

“Come in,” Gilraen fixed her needle and set down her sewing as the door to her sitting room swung open. She was a little surprised when Glorfindel entered, for he was not a regular visitor. She watched as clear blue eyes flicked quickly about the small room, no doubt absorbing every minute detail in that one glance. “Good morning, Lord Glorfindel.”

“Good day, Lady Gilraen. I apologise for disturbing you, but I had thought to discover Faerwen.” The tall elven warrior bowed precisely and it was then that Gilraen noted what appeared to be a fine silk garment, draped over his arm.

“She was here, but left a few minutes ago to join her husband for luncheon. I believe she intends to assist Erestor in re-ordering the library after lunch. Faerwen and her husband prefer to work alone in that.” Gilraen's eyes twinkled. “I think Faerwen is the only person who can come up to his exacting standard. Is there anything I can help you with?”

“Thank you but I do not wish to impose.” Glorfindel held up the drape of pale blue silk. “My sewing skills are pitiful and Faerwen is gracious enough to undertake my mending, when required. No doubt I shall be able to speak with her later.” He made to bow out of the door, but Gilraen stayed him.

“I can do it for you. My duties here are few and Faerwen's are many. It will be no burden to me to repair your shirt.” She waived toward the pool of blue velvet at her feet. “If I am truthful, I was only making myself a new gown because I was bored. I have plenty already. May I see your shirt?”

Glorfindel glided, cat-footed, across the room, holding up his garment for inspection. Glorfindel always dressed impeccably, a feat made more remarkable by his active lifestyle. It was he who supervised the day to day running of Imladris' border defence. He also took an active part in any arms training required, and enjoyed archery and fencing in his spare time, so Gilraen could only marvel at his ability to keep all his garments clean and tidy. It was a skill she despaired was beyond the mastery of her young son. It was some surprise, therefore, to see a long rent down the length of one flowing sleeve. “Oh dear. However did you manage this?”

The elven lord frowned. “I moved aside, to avoid being stepped upon by Luin, and caught the sleeve upon a piece of tack.” His frown deepened. “I swear, that pony has developed a dislike of my person that I am at a loss to explain.”

Gilraen relieved him of the shirt, spreading out the sleeve upon her lap to examine it more closely. “Luin dislikes everybody, except Elrohir. That is why the pony is so fat. Nobody but my son will agree to exercise him, and then, only under Elrohir's supervision.”

Whilst Glorfindel always formed a loving and loyal bond with his own steed, he only tolerated other mounts, and appeared to have a positive aversion to household pets. “I believe Luin only tolerates Estel, because Elrohir has threatened him with a diet if he does not.” He glanced down in dismay, and tried to step away, as Celeg wound about his legs. Celeg, of course, decided this was some new game, and simply followed him.

Gilraen bit back a smile, observing Glorfindel wince, as Estel's pet rubbed fine ginger cat hairs all over warrior's pale suede boots. Once having decided that she had marred his clothing sufficiently, Celeg let out one quiet, “Aaa,” before sticking her nose in the air and sauntering onto the terrace, to settle down in a convenient puddle of sunshine.

The elven warrior looked as though he were desperate to leave, no doubt to seek out the nearest suede brush. Gilraen took pity and decided to get down to business. “It will be impossible to repair this tear invisibly, especially upon such a fine fabric. Were you particularly fond of the wide sleeves? I may be able to alter both to give a closer fit. By doing that I can completely remove the damaged fabric and create a new seem . . . unless you have a supply of spare fabric.”

Glorfindel shook his head. “I obtained it upon a visit to Eryn Lasgalen, but a narrower sleeve will suit, if you are certain that you have the time. I am sure it will be a bigger task than you originally envisaged.”

Gilraen only smiled, beginning to fold the fine garment. “It will only take me a few hours. Come back in a couple of days and I am sure it will be finished.”

“Thank you, Lady. I am most grateful.” Glorfindel bowed, before making for the door, no doubt off to brush his fine boots.

-0-

The next afternoon, gradually becoming aware that there was more activity than usual in the house, Gilraen leaned over the balustrade of her terrace. She was just in time to see Faerwen shooing Estel indoors. She called down even as Faerwen looked up. “Has my son got himself into trouble again?”

Faerwen's reply was accompanied by a laugh. “Not this time. We are expecting a bad storm so everyone is taking shelter. The worst will probably pass by but, from the look of the clouds, we shall be getting some heavy rain.” She pointed away to the South-east, where thick grey clouds could clearly be seen, already beginning to blanket the highest peaks of the surrounding mountains.

Even as she spoke both ladies were distracted by the clatter of hooves on cobbles and, beyond a line of trees, the figures of two riders could be seen, moving swiftly along one of the many trails, toward the mountain passes. Gilraen recognised the steeds of Elrond and Elrohir and glanced down in query to her friend. 

Faerwen smiled reassuringly. “They are probably just going to check one of the passes. Sometimes we get landslides in bad weather.”

Gilraen returned to her room, securing long windows against the pending wind and rain, once Celeg had slipped inside. Still, she began to feel disturbed, for Elrond did not usually take it upon himself to personally check the passes. Additionally, landslides were usually caused by prolonged rain, and no rain had yet fallen. She had just set spark to the first fire of the season when Estel made his usual boisterous entrance, and his mother sighed, at the prospect of keeping her over-active child occupied indoors for several hours.

Celeg assisted in keeping Estel occupied for a little while at least. She pounced and chased as Estel waved a bunch of feathers on a string. But even Celeg ran out of energy eventually and, despite Estel's best efforts to tempt her, simply curled up on the rug before the hearth, with it's now welcoming blaze. The fire was not drawing as well as usual and Gilraen suspected that the chimney needed sweeping, but it provided sufficient heat for the time of year and she would mention it to Erestor when times were quieter.

“Have you no lessons to prepare for, Estel?” Gilraen asked, her attention upon making her stitches as neat as possible in the fine silk of Glorfindel's shirt. She was surprised at how much comfort it gave her to work upon a shirt, bringing back soft memories of repairing her husband's clothes. 

“I suppose so.” Estel threw himself into a chair at the table, opening one of the books piled there, with a loud thump.

“Estel! That is no way to treat a book. Some of those are priceless.” Gilraen looked up for long enough to glare a warning at her son.

“Sorry, Mama.” He made a point of turning the page with exaggerated care and then bent, dutifully, to his study. Despite his best efforts to appear uninterested, he was soon lost in the battle of the fall of Gondolin.

For nearly an hour the only sounds within the room were the turning of pages, the crackle of the fire and Celeg's soothing purr. So quiet was it that Gilraen could hear the sounds of doors being closed, windows secured and pavilions shuttered. Such activity usually only occurred in winter and her thoughts returned to the sight of Elrond, hastening toward the border.

The whereabouts of the three elven rings was never spoken of and only a very few knew, with any certainty, that one was hidden within this valley. Elrond had only revealed it to Gilraen when she first arrived with her infant son, as a last ditch attempt to assure her that, until he could defend himself, Estel would be safer in Imladris than he would be with his own people. It had never been mentioned again.

Indeed, nobody spoke of Vilya, and yet everyone knew that Elrond could control the weather within the valley borders. Vilya was the ring of air, after all. Seasons followed their course, rain and snow arrived in their time and yet, despite being ringed by mountains, the weather within Imladris was always moderate. There was enough rain to feed the trees and snow to blanket the world in wonder for a few days. Summers lingered but autumn was a welcome blaze of colour, with mist to be-dew the cobwebs. But there was no excess and on many occasions, Gilraen stood upon her terrace in sunshine, watching rain-dark clouds skirt the mountain peaks.

Today, something was different. Prevailing winds blew in weather from the west, but today storm clouds were swooping in from the south, seeming to pile persistently against an invisible wall, rather than flowing around. Gilraen felt an unease in the air. Estel appeared unaware of any problem and his mother decided that to seek out explanation from their hosts could cause him undue worry. No doubt the elves knew what they were doing . . . didn't they?

Gilraen had almost finished setting-in the remodelled second sleeve when she was startled by a violent flash, followed almost immediately by a crash of thunder that shook the house. Celeg darted under a chair and Estel yelped in alarm. His mother was on her feet at once, moving to reassure him. “It's alright. Just thunder. We are safe.” Still, Estel ran to her side and she gathered him close in the centre of the room, as the heavens opened and rain began to pound upon roof and window.

Through the drifting grey veils of rain Gilraen could see that clouds, no longer piled along the horizon, were now rolling in over the valley, like some roiling tide released from a dam. Rain bounced off the pavement on the terrace, so violently that it formed transitory bubbles, and fell in sheets from overhanging eaves. There was another blue flash, followed almost instantly by a crash, which seemed to rumble on forever as it was reflected back and forth by steep valley walls.

At first frightened by such fury, Estel grew fascinated by the scene outside and was soon standing at the window. Gilraen had to remind herself that he had never experienced such wild weather, so he had no concept of the danger it presented. Beyond the sloping lawns, trees were bending in the growing wind, their leaves drooping beneath the onslaught of so much rain. The roar of overloaded waterfalls began to compete with the rumble of thunder, and the sky turned a sickly green-grey colour.

Suddenly, both watchers looked left, where there was thunder of a different kind, followed by the sight of at least a dozen unsaddled and riderless horses fleeing into the trees, pursued by several wildly gesturing elves, who usually worked in the stables. Estel thought it highly amusing to see elves caught so unaware, but Gilraen knew that a panicked horse was one likely to get itself hurt, especially when careering down a thickly wooded and rain-slicked slope.

The elves were not slow to respond, however. Within moments Glorfindel and some of the more experienced riders and horses, began their pursuit. As the storm showed no signs of abating, Gilraen wondered how far they would have to ride, before catching their stable mates.

“Can we go down and see what's happening?” Estel asked excitedly. 

“I'm not sure there is much to see, but as long as you stay . . .” Gilraen winced as the flash and crash of thunder arrived simultaneously this time. “As long as you stay out of the way.”

Estel ran for the door at once and Gilraen decided to follow, just in case. In his excitement, Estel was prone to forget any injunctions about staying out of the way or, indeed, staying safe.

Downstairs was a hive of activity. Several elves were arriving in the porch from the depths of the large house, obviously to tend to any damage. However, there was much discussion regarding the feasibility of making any sort of journey on foot.

Elladan was arguing with Erestor. “You've seen the weather. Adar may be in trouble.”

Erestor was visibly restraining the younger elf. “Your brother is the best of our riders. If Elrond is in trouble Elrohir will be the best person to bring him back safely.”  
“We cannot know that. Perhaps whatever affected my father has also affected my brother.” Elladan tried in vain to loosen Erestor's grip.

“All the horses we have left are too skittish to be trusted out in this weather. Glorfindel and his companions took the remainder of those considered the most even tempered.”

Still Elladan continued to struggle. “I have been riding for as many years as my brother,” he pointed out a little petulantly.

“I have no doubt of your skill as a rider, but I do doubt the temperament of those mounts still available to you. Even your own horse took flight with the others.”

Estel had never seen his foster brother or Erestor so heated, and he stepped up, a little tentatively. “Dan, where is Adar?” He ducked instinctively as another flash and thunderclap arrived, seemingly directly over the house. Everyone froze, listening as the thunder rumbled on for what seemed like an age.

“That is not thunder.” Erestor released Elladan, running out into the rain along with many others. Before Gilraen could grab him, Estel followed, just in time to see an entire section of fine green tiles, from the roof of the Hall of Fire, slide crashingly onto the pavement, leaving a cross hatch of beautifully carved beams exposed to the violence of the weather. Estel would have followed Faerwen, Erestor and the dozen or so other elves who ran into the hall, had his mother not caught hold of his collar.

“Oh no you don't. There is nothing you can do to help in there, and more tiles could yet fall.” Estel pouted but remained at his mother's side when she released him. The wind chose that moment to gust in a new direction, threatening to thoroughly wet all those remaining in the porch, so everyone rushed back indoors. Gilraen noted that Elladan was still among them, apparently having finally seen the sense of Erestor's argument. All crowded before the windows watching, in awe, the ferocity of the storm. Estel's hand found that of Elladan and they stood together, willing Elrond to appear.

Only half an hour later their prayers were answered, although not in a way that any would have liked. Elrond's horse arrived first, materialising through a sheet of rain as though born of magic. Everyone ran out onto the porch and one elf even tried to bring Alagos to a halt, but the horse simply swerved around him and made straight for the stables. 

Elladan began to follow but stopped, when he saw another horse arriving, this one carrying a rider. As it drew closer it became clear that it, in fact, carried two riders, and Estel suddenly found himself being bundled back into the hallway by his mother. He refused to leave however, instead finding a place by the window, for he had spotted the brown of his Adar's favourite riding leathers peeping from beneath the cloak of the first rider. Acknowledging her son's need to know the truth, whatever it may be, Gilraen waited with him, hands resting lightly upon his shoulders, in an attempt to provide comfort that she hoped would not be necessary. Elves were a hardy folk, after all. And yet, the ruined face of her husband's corpse floated tauntingly in her minds eye.

Elrohir was soaked and the figure held securely before him, bound tightly in a grey hooded cloak that hid the face in deep shadow, was no less so. From the way Elrohir's burden swayed, and the wide spread of dark staining, it was clear that the second rider had sustained some serious injuries.

“Somebody help me get him to the Healers Hall!” Elrohir's voice was lost in the howl of the wind but Elladan and others stepped forward none-the-less, accepting what they now realised was their Lord's senseless form. Estel screamed, “Adar!” as a bright flare of lightening revealed Elrond's bloodied and insensate face. That was more than enough for Gilraen, if not her son, and she dragged her protesting and sobbing child away, to their suite of rooms.

Faerwen arrived in their chambers only minutes later, hair and clothes still wet. The lady had been Gilraen's companion ever since Estel's arrival in the valley, and often looked after the boy when his mother was unavailable. Now, headless of wet clothing, Estel ran to her, wrapping his arms about her waist to plead, “Please, Faerwen! Please tell Mama that I need to go to Adar.” He paused only long enough to emit a hiccuping sob. “Adar is poorly. He needs me.”

Unwrapping his arms Faerwen dropped to her knees before him, offering Gilraen a sympathetic glance over his shoulder before speaking to the youngster. “Your Adar is being tended by the healers. There has not been time to fully assess his injuries, but Elladan tells me that he awoke as they were putting him to bed. At the moment we would only get in the way of the work that needs to be done, so we have all been banished.” She brushed tears from his cheeks. “The best thing we can do to help your Adar at the moment, is to stay out of the way.”

Estel turned to his mother, who nodded. “She is right, sweetheart. You know it in your head I think, but your heart is having difficulty listening.” She held out her hands and Estel ran to her with a soft cry, clambering into her lap to burying himself, sobbing, in his Mama's comforting embrace.

Faerwen slipped away silently, eager to don dry clothes before joining the vigil within the Healers Hall. In the end, Estel had his way and, once Elrond was tended and comfortable, the youngster was allowed to visit. 

It seemed Elrond had sensed something wrong upon the border of Imladris and he and Elrohir had gone to investigate. The wrongness had turned out to be the damming of a tributary of Bruinnen, which Elrohir attributed to the action of orcs. It was a tactic they had not attempted before and spoke of more planning than was usual for them. Elrond had been caught in the flood when a misstep accidentally triggered the breaking of the dam. The catalogue of his broken bones was frightening to hear, but the healers assured Gilraen and Estel that they were not life threatening to an elf. 

Once Estel had established that his Adar was not at Mandos' door he crawled carefully onto the bed at his side, and joined him in sleep. Gilraen watched both through the night and Elrohir carried the youngster back to his own bed before dawn.

“Thank you, Elrohir. Estel is grown too heavy for me to carry.” Gilraen sighed wistfully as she folded her son's clothes and Elrohir tucked him in.

“He has grown a lot in this past year.”

“The state of my fingers are a testament to that. Even with a thimble they are worn away with altering his clothes,” Gilraen replied with a smile, bending to cup her son's cheek and then kiss his brow. 

“Children must grow. At least he has not lost his bright nature.”

“Not yet.” Gilraen accompanied Elrohir to the door and watched as he strode off down the hallway. She wondered if Elrond had felt the same combination of pride and fear as his sons had grown.

Looking down at her, by now, rather wrinkled gown, Gilraen decided that a bath and some fresh clothing would be a good idea. With this in mind she opened the door to her bedchamber, but was brought up short before taking one step within. 

No fire had been lit the day before and now she was grateful for that fact, for there had apparently been a huge fall of soot from the chimney above. A layer of fine black powder radiated out from the fireplace in a wide starburst, that covered at least half of the room. What had not landed initially upon the floor had remained suspended in the air, before drifting down slowly to coat any and all surfaces.

Gilraen considered the feasibility of cleaning the room on her own. Swiftly dismissing that idea, she considered what help she could muster. All about the rambling house she could hear the sound of hammers and saws, of voices calling out instruction and others answering. It was unlikely that there would be any help available for such a menial task as cleaning a room of soot, within the next few hours. Closing the door, she tiptoed back into her son's chamber and on into his bathing room. She could at least have a bath and then, perhaps, smooth some of the creases out of her gown, until she could gain access to her wardrobe.

The storm blew itself out while patient and child slept and later that morning Estel was allowed to return to sit with his Adar. By mid afternoon, however, the youngster was growing restless so Elrond's healer, Nestorel, pushed Gilraen and her son from the sick room, with strict instructions to get some fresh air. It was an injunction both decided they were quite willing to follow. Estel's cat, Celeg, who had taken it upon herself to comfort Elrond by curling up at his side, only opened one sleepy eye, then tucked her nose beneath the tip of her tail and went back to sleep.

After so many hours spent indoors, Gilraen blinked as she stepped out into bright sunshine. Faerwen had stopped by, so Gilraen knew that Erestor was supervising clean-up operations on the house and grounds, whilst Elrohir and Elladan dealt with the wider valley. As Gilraen stepped from the porch Glorfindel arrived, leading in a string of weary horses and riders. Other elves were sweeping paths and collecting fallen branches. The level of the streams and rivers was falling but scoured banks stood testament to the anger of their flow the previous evening. Gilraen could hear the sound of saws and axes in the valley beyond the lawn, and assumed that teams were still clearing some of the tributaries of Bruinnen. 

Estel and his mother picked their way through debris still awaiting clearance, and Gilraen wished she had been able to change into breeches before leaving the house.  
“Look, Mama!” Gilraen held back her excited child, when he would have scampered off among the shards of shattered tile, evidence of damage to the roof of the beautiful Hall of Fire. She followed Estel's pointing finger, to where Faerwen and two other elves were nimbly clambering, fixing broad wooden planks to the exposed beams of the roof.

“When you have finished there, we have some elves trapped within the Green Pavilion. They are uninjured but the covered bridge was washed away” Erestor shouted up as he appeared at Gilraen's side. Distracted, his wife hit her thumb with a hammer, letting out a dwarven expletive that could have turned the air blue, before jamming the injured digit into her mouth.

“What does that word mean, Erestor?” Estel enquired innocently.

Erestor coloured slightly. “It was just a word expressing surprise,” he offered lamely.

Gilraen scowled at him before turning to her son. “Estel, Faerwen just used a very naughty word, and if I ever hear it coming from your mouth I shall wash it out with soap.”

Estel did not seem in the least perturbed by this information. “So will you be washing out Faerwen's mouth when she comes down?” he asked the senechal.

Faerwen was blessed with elven hearing and now she shouted down, “I'd like to see him try. And I apologise Estel, Gilraen. I was not aware you were there.” To her husband she added. “We just have to spread some canvas over this and weight it down, then we will join you at the bridge.”

Erestor gifted Gilraen with one of his rare smiles. “Faerwen is her own master. It is one of the things I love about her.”

Gilraen took her opportunity. “I'm almost afraid to add something so small to your list, but I wonder if you can spare anyone to help me to clean my bed chamber. The thunder brought down a fall of soot.”

As always, Erestor took it in his stride. “Yours is not the only chimney to suffer. We were going to sweep all of them next week but the storm has undertaken the task for us. Sadly, the storm neglected to spread dust sheets first. I have a team dedicated to that particular work and will send them to you later.” With those words he strode off toward what was left of the bridge to the Green Pavilion, calmly fielding questions from a string of elves along the way. Erestor was in his element on occasions such as this, his organisational skills a legend of themselves.

Having satisfied his curiosity about the Hall of Fire, Estel led his mother around to Imladris' beautiful stable yard. Here, there appeared to be little damage to the low buildings, although several elves who habitually worked in the yard were sweeping it clear of branches and straw. Gilraen followed her son into the longest wing. 

It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the relative dimness within. All the stalls appeared to be occupied and Glorfindel could be seen, brushing down his latest steed, Celebrandir. Others were brushing down the horses newly returned.

Estel ran toward his hero, halting at the other side of the rope strung across the entrance to Celabrandir's stall. “Did you find them all, Glorfindel?”

The tall elf smiled at the youngster. “We did. They at least had sense enough to find shelter in a cave. We have brought back all but Baragaer, who apparently decided that the middle of a storm was the best time to deliver her latest foal. She will follow later.”

“Ooh! A new foal. Is it a boy or a girl? What shall you call it? What about Alagos, because it was born during a storm?” Estel was hopping excitedly from foot to foot but his questions were stalled by a loud snort from a stall to his right. Here, Elrond's steed was shaking his head and pawing the ground.

Gilraen laughed. “I think your Adar's mount would be very unhappy if you called the foal Alagos. I suspect he would not like to share his name.”

Estel's eyes widened and he made a little bow to the tall, night-black stallion. “I'm sorry, Alagos. I didn't think.” Alagos huffed and returned to his oats.

“So, what will you call the new foal,” Gilraen asked as she leaned in to stroke Celabrandir's aristocratic nose. Like his master, Celabrandir could be a bit aloof, but for some reason, he had taken a liking to the lady, and now the gelding's eyes closed in pleasure at her touch. 

“We offered the name, Fannui, and both mare and foal have accepted.”

Estel grinned. “Cloudy? That's good. Like the rain clouds. Is it grey? Is it a boy or a girl?”

Glorfindel raised a hand (holding a curry comb) to stem the tide of questions. “It is a boy and, yes, he is grey, like his sire.”

Estel spun about, searching for Fangwelu, but his stall was empty. Glorfindel huffed as he noted the direction of the boy's gaze. “That one was the leader of the escape. He has always had more good looks than good sense, and seemed to take it into his head that his mare would be safer away from here. He is lucky she did not give birth on the trail. At least he had sense enough to eventually lead them to a cave. I left him with his new family. Elrohir is going to drop off some straw and feed on his way down to the water meadows”

“Is he taking the cattle back to the meadows, then?” Estel's mind ran on at it's usual break-neck speed. “Have they drained already? Last spring the ground was so wet that it was like walking on a spongy mattress. It was very funny. I kept falling over. Mama, can I go and see?”

Gilraen shook her head. “Not yet, sweetheart. The path's will be very muddy.”

Estel pouted. “I don't mind mud.”

His mother rolled her eyes, much to Glorfindel's amusement. “You may not, but I do. I am the one who has to keep your clothes clean.”

Her son would not be put off, however. “Mama, you do not do the washing. You send it to the laundry.”

“Where I take my turn with everyone else.” Gilraen was long used to fielding his arguments. “Say goodbye to Glorfindel, Estel. It is time for lunch.” She gathered up her son's hand, to ensure there would be no ambiguity in her statement. To Glorfindel she added, “Your shirt is ready when you wish to collect it.”

“Thank you.” 

Gilraen chose not to examine too closely, whether the gratitude she heard in Glorfindel's voice was for the mending of his shirt or for the removal of her chatterbox son.  
For his part, Estel trotted along at her side compliantly as he was led from the stable, holding back only long enough to call, politely, “Thank you, Lord Glorfindel.”

Gilraen decided that her son needed something to occupy him and she had just the job, where he could get as dirty as he pleased. Estel could help to clean the soot from his mother's room.

The job was indeed dirty, and long, but fortunately a group of Erestor's workers arrived half way through and, between them, Gilraen's chamber began to emerge from beneath its blanket of black. Toward the end, the elves shooed Mother and son to their respective bathing chambers, and even Estel went willingly.

By the time the much cleaner youngster returned to his mother's room she was attired in a fresh gown and brushing out her damp hair. Estel endured her inspection of fingernails, hair and ears and, having passed muster, settled himself upon the bed to watch. There was something very soothing about watching Mama brush her long hair. She rarely wore it loose and it fell to her waist in a curtain the colour of rich, dark earth. 

Mother and son both turned as there was a brisk knock at the bedroom door. Gilraen hurriedly coiled her hair at her nape and skewered it with a long pin before calling out, “Come in.”

Glorfindel opened the door but did not cross the threshold, choosing instead to give a small bow. “I apologise for disturbing you at your toilet, but you were not in your sitting room.”

Gilraen smiled. “Not to worry, Glorfindel. I was almost finished here anyway. Have you come for your shirt? Please do come in.”

The elven warrior stepped in, leaving the door ajar. “You intimated that it was ready for collection, although I will understand if there is some delay. I understand from Erestor that yours was one of the chimneys that was unexpectedly cleared of soot.”

“It was awfully messy,” Estel offered as his mother crossed to a clothing chest and returned with Glorfindel's shirt, neatly folded.

“I imagine that it was. I am pleased that you have managed to clean it.” Glorfindel accepted the garment, shaking it out and then lifting a sleeve to examine it more closely. 

“Lady, Gilraen, this is beautiful work. Had I not known, I would have sworn that the sleeves had always been thus. I cannot even tell where the embroidery about the cuffs has been disturbed.” To Estel's embarrassment, the elven lord took one of Gilraen's hands in his and bent to kiss the back. “Thank you, Lady.”

“Ewww!” Estel grimaced. “Kissing is so slobbery.”

Glorfindel raised one fine blond brow. “This, from the young man who I saw wiping his nose upon his sleeve, the day before yesterday?”

Estel had the grace to blush and Gilraen frowned in disapproval. “Lord Glorfindel, should you ever have occasion to see my son do that again, you have my permission to set whatever punishment you see fit.”

Estel's eyes widened, for Glorfindel was known for his skill at providing just the right punishment to any who crossed him, and Gilraen hid her chuckle behind a cough.

Glorfindel did not bother to hide his amusement. Then he returned his attention to the lady once more. “I am in your debt, Lady. If there is aught I can do for you in return you need only ask.”

Gilraen considered both warrior and son and came up with the perfect solution. “There is something that you could do, if you have the time.”

Glorfindel bowed. “Name it.”

“Estel has been studying the story of the fall of Gondolin of late. I fear the version in Elrond's library is rather dry reading for a child, and I understand that you have first hand knowledge of the events. If it would not be too traumatic for you, perhaps you could give Estel some detail?”

Glorfindel swallowed. He had long since come to terms with the events of that time, but he was unused to interacting with children. On the other hand, he had made the offer, and it would be churlish to set limits now. “I would be very happy to help with Estel's studies in the matter. When would you like me to begin?”

“Tomorrow, perhaps?” Gilraen offered. “If your other duties will permit.” Estel waited, eyes shining, and more still and silent than his mother had ever seen him. 

Glorfindel considered for a moment. “I can make time in the morning if that will suit?”

“That would be perfect. It is the time Estel usually takes lessons with Elrond, so it will mean that his studies can continue, uninterrupted.”

Estel leapt off the bed, rushing at Glorfindel with a loud squeal, to wrap his arms about the startled elf lord's waist. For her part, Gilraen could only burst into laughter at Glorfindel's pained expression, and she wondered what excuse she could come up with in order to be in the same room with the pair upon the morrow.

END


End file.
